"Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest—
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest—
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
Corlaer, weak as a rag, sank in a heap of buckskin in a dark corner by the bulwarks.
"Neen, neen," he answered when I would have helped him. "Not'ings, Bob. I get better by and by. Der salt water—it is always so with me."
"I'll get you some rum," I said firmly.
And, rising, I was on the point of seeking the nearest man to ask where a drink might be obtained when footsteps clicked on the deck behind me.
"They are a dangerous company," said a voice with an unmistakable brogue to it.
"What would you?" returned my great-uncle.
I could imagine the graceful shrug which went with the words.
"We could not employ his Majesty's people in such a business. And all things considered, my fellows can handle it far better and more expeditiously."
They passed through the rays of the lanthorn which swung from the mainyard. Aye, the first speaker was Colonel O'Donnell. The little Irish maid! His daughter. My father had been right in his suspicions.